


In the Spirit

by ArtemisRayne



Series: May Look at a King - A Newsies Felisian AU [7]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Felisians, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cat/Human Hybrids, Established Relationship, Felisian!Jack, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Self-indulgent fluff, Shameless Newsies Bonding, The Author Regrets Nothing, Underage Drinking, halloween party, that's all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 23:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16275041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: Davey has never understood the appeal of Halloween. With midterms the following week, he doesn't plan on actually celebrating Halloween apart from maybe binging some horror movies with Jack. Said boyfriend - and his colorful cast of friends - have entirely different plans.





	In the Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> I kept trying to give this fic a purpose, I really did. I tried so hard to make it have some semblance of a plot. These boys don't cooperate. So instead, here's nothing but some shameless Newsies bonding. Mostly posting this to get it off my computer so I can focus on the proper supernatural horror short I'm trying to get finished in time for Halloween.

Davey has never really understood the appeal of Halloween.

He understands why little kids like it, of course. He's got plenty of fond memories of nights pretending to be something amazing he could only dream of - astronaut or cowboy or superhero - and sorting through the pillowcase of free candy he and Sarah collected from their neighborhood. It's just that the shine wore off around junior high when dressing up became less about imagining yourself as something incredible and more about who looked coolest and could afford the fanciest costumes. Davey hasn't done more than the most basic Halloween requirements in years, and those only because Les gets so excited that it's hard to disappoint him.

As a freshman in college, with midterms the first week of November, Davey doesn't expect to actually celebrate Halloween in any form apart from possibly binging horror movies on Netflix with Jack. Said boyfriend, however, has entirely different plans; turns out that Jack, although he looks like a functioning adult on the outside, is secretly a six-year-old child who spends the entire two weeks leading up to Halloween in a perpetual state of hyperactivity.

So Davey gets dragged into pumpkin-carving in the tiny apartment kitchen, the sad products of which are then proudly displayed on the fire escape. While they dry and roast all the leftover pumpkin seeds in the oven, they decorate the walls of the apartment with little ghosts and skeletons and bats that Jack clearly painted himself. There are fake, cottony spider webs strung across everything that make Spot growl irritably every time they tangle in his tail - to the amusement of literally everyone _except_ Spot.

They attend a Halloween carnival on campus put on by a couple of the Greek sororities. In between rigged games and caramel apples, Davey laughs himself silly when a rubber spider falls on them in a haunted house and Jack actually _yowls_ in fright. To make it up to him, Davey wins a little ghost plushie from a ring toss game and jokingly gives it to Jack in apology. (And Davey's heart turns over when he notices, a few days later, that the stuffed ghost has earned a place on Jack's nightstand.)

Then, to top the whole affair off, Jack drags him away from what was meant to be a night of midterm review to attend a Halloween party with their friends.

Davey feels nothing short of ridiculous as he and Jack, in their last-minute Halloween costumes, stroll into the lobby of the towering Midtown apartment building where Blink and Mush live. "Seriously, how do two college kids afford a place here?" he asks in awe.

"Not sure, honestly," Jack answers, laughing. "We got theories. Don't remember who started it, but someone suggested Blink got a super nice payout from the military when he lost his eye. Al thinks Mush's got connections to the mafia." Davey can't stop his snort at that; of any of their friends, Mush is the least likely to be involved in something dirty. He's the sort who won't kill a spider, instead carefully relocating it to a safe spot outside. "I figure one of 'em's pro'lly got rich parents or somethin' and just don't wanna say. Don't really care either way. S'nice to have a place big 'nough to fit everyone for parties and stuff, so none us is complainin'."

The elevator carries them up two dozen floors, and then Jack leads the way to the correct apartment number. There's a cardboard skull with an eyepatch taped to the front door and Davey can faintly hear music and voices coming from the other side. Jack grins as he taps his knuckles on the door and then lets them in without waiting for a response.

A chorus of cheering goes up when they step in, greetings overlapping each other from every corner of the room. The lights are dimmed, a few of the bulbs replaced with green ones to cast an eerie glow across every surface, and there are cheap decorations made of crepe paper and glittery spider webs strung across everything.

"Hey, you made it!" says Mush as he pushes his way through the crowd to meet them at the door. He's dressed as a hippie, complete with a wig of blonde hair that hangs to his waist, and by the slur in his voice, he's already a couple of drinks into celebrating. Either that or he's taken the hippie costume an extra step and broken into Blink's medicinal marijuana stash again.

"Yeah, sorry, they stuck me with a shift at the library," Davey says, grimacing.

"Ew, work. Gross," Mush says, wrinkling up his nose. "Well, in that case, you guys got some catchin' up to do." Before Davey can even process what's happening, the pair of them has been stripped of their jackets and supplied with plastic cups before being dragged into a conversation with Albert, Specs, and Mush.

"You don't gotta drink if you don't wanna," Jack says quiet enough that only Davey will hear, his hand settling on the small of Davey's back. "Ain't no one gonna judge."

Davey smiles at his boyfriend. "I know," he responds and then takes a sip of what was advertised as punch. The strong kick of alcohol burns against the back of his throat, sharply contrasted with the sickly sweet fruit flavor, but it's hardly the worst thing he's ever had.

One eyebrow raised, Jack shakes his head. "Full'a surprises," he mutters fondly before turning his attention to his own drink.

"Racer and Spot comin'?" Specs asks.

Jack shakes his head. "Nah, hospital's doing a big thing for the kids, so they went to that."

"So Davey I get, but what the fuck you s'posed to be, Jacky?" Albert asks, scrutinizing the felisian with narrowed eyes from behind his cardstock Batman mask.

"A munchkin!" Mush supplies with a laugh.

"Oh fuck off," Jack says, rolling his eyes although he's fighting a smile. "You ain't gonna be laughin' when I win. Two bucks even, whole thing."

"Not bad," Specs remarks approvingly, nodding.

Davey glances around at the others. "So this is really a thing?" he asks skeptically. "'Cause honestly, when Jack told me, I kind of thought he was just trying to prank me."

The others laugh and Jack flicks his tail against Davey's butt in mock offense. "Yeah, it's a thing," says Specs. "Jack and me started it in high school. Since all those costumes you buy at stores are so damn expensive, thought it'd be fun to see if we could manage decent costumes on the cheap. It sorta turned into a competition after a while, seeing who could throw something together cheapest."

"Well at least that explains the ridiculously early morning trip to the Goodwill," Davey says dryly, shooting a pointed look at his boyfriend.

"It wasn't _that_ early."

"It was a _Saturday_. Everything before noon is early."

"Well it worked out, didn't it?" Jack replies, raising an eyebrow. "Found costumes for us both, only five bucks total." Then, rounding on Albert, he finishes, "And for your information, I'm a newsie."

The inspiration for Jack's costume came in the form of a faded gray newsboy cap they found tucked back on a shelf. The rest of his costume comes from his closet; black slacks cuffed at the knee to show off paisley socks, a blue oxford, and a vest that he stole from Davey's wardrobe, although the last is left hanging open because Jack's chest is too broad to button it. They had to modify the hat to make it actually work, cutting large triangular holes in the top to accommodate his ears, and the finishing touch is nothing more than 'dirt' smudges on his cheeks and hands, which came from his charcoals set.

It's a little unfair that Jack is still attractive even while dressed up as a street urchin from the turn of the century.

" _Ohhh_ , now I get it," Mush says, head tipping at an angle as he looks Jack over like he's an abstract art piece. "Should'a brought a paper with so ya could hawk it."

"You even know where to _find_ a real newspaper?" Jack responds scornfully. "Everythin's online."

Davey snorts into his drink. "Campus paper always has copies in the cafeteria," he supplies. When a few of the guys give him bemused looks, he adds, "I'm a journo major."

"Right, I forgot," Albert says. "Dressed like that, you look less like you're breakin' stories and more like breakin' ponies."

Even as he joins in the others' laughter, Davey glances down at his costume self-consciously. The jeans are his, the plainest ones he owns, but the plaid flannel shirt and the bandana tied around his neck came from Jack's closet. Like the felisian, the only purchase for his costume was the hat; Davey wrinkles his nose as he attempts to settle the worn black cowboy hat more comfortably on his head, nervous that it's making his ears stick out.

"Stop fussin', you look cute," Jack says, grabbing his hand to still it.

Davey snorts. "Yeah, because I'm sure 'cute' is the adjective cowboys were aiming for," he says sarcastically.

"Is when they're shootin' to get into Jacky's pants," Specs intones with a smirk. "Nerdy cowboy is like his two biggest kinks in one."

As Jack shouts protests and takes off after Specs, Davey busies himself with his drink to hide the fact that he's blushing a bright magenta. Ninety percent of the reason he'd settled on the costume in the first place was to make a playful dig at Jack's childhood nickname, the story behind which Jack still hasn't explained. Jack, after some mock pouting, was none too shy about admiring the costume, including a colorful array of themed innuendos that had made Davey blush then too. Remembering them now - as well as the sex that followed - only makes the fire in his cheeks worse.

Mush and Albert are both still laughing, but the former must take pity on Davey because he changes the subject. "So, you had a midterm crash yet?"

"Not yet, but it's been close," Davey admits with a rueful smile. For the most part, he's been able to keep from having a complete mental breakdown while reviewing for his midterms, although that's largely in part to the fact that Jack keeps interrupting his studying to pull him into some new Halloween shenanigan. "Give me another day or two. There's this little clock in the back of my head reminding me I've only got four days left until my biology exam."

"That's what this stuff's for," Mush says, raising his glass. "Couple'a these, ain't gonna care 'bout studyin'."

"That's kinda the plan," Davey agrees and finishes his drink in one long swallow. It sears down into his core, making the room suddenly warmer.

"Atta boy!" Albert cheers enthusiastically, slinging an arm around Davey's shoulders and steering him toward the kitchen for refills.

Two hours later, Davey's several drinks in and feeling comfortably hazy. He's slumped on the loveseat talking to Boots, who's made a nest of throw blankets and pillows for herself on the floor. Mid-conversation, Specs flops lazily across Davey's lap with a grin. "Howdy, partner," the dancer, who has lost half of his Harry Potter costume by now to counter the heat of the apartment, says in greeting.

"No, it's fine, make yourself comfortable," Davey says teasingly, gesturing to where the taller boy sprawled over him. "I wasn't going anywhere."

"Good, 'cause I'm comfy," Specs responds, smirking. He takes a drink and then tips his head sideways to look down at where Boots is curled up on her side. "Puss, you know your skirt's ridin' up?"

From her spot on the floor, Boots deliberately sweeps her tail so that the hem of her Wonder Woman skirt hikes up a bit higher. "Sounds like a personal problem," she says, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Boots is the only one of Jack's friends who is also felisian - which they bonded over when they took the same year one English class - and she presents a fierce figure with her bright, yellow-green eyes and sleek gray ears emerging from her hair.

Davey has the distracted thought that Wonder Woman would've probably been way cooler if she'd been felisian too.

"Ain't a problem to me," Specs says, grinning. "Ya know I enjoy the view."

"Wait," Davey interjects, his slightly sluggish brain finally catching a detail. "Did you call her Puss?"

Boots rolls her eyes as Specs snorts into his drink. "That's her name," he explains. "Ya know, like the story. Puss in Boots."

"I thought they called you Boots 'cause you always wear those combat boots?" Davey says, glancing to the girl for confirmation.

"Technically, yeah," she agrees. "A felisian who wears boots a lot. Puss in Boots." She smirks and shakes her head. "These idiots think they're clever. Thankfully they usually stick to Boots, which is good 'cause _puss_ usually means something totally different."

Davey throws his head back laughing when that sinks in, the motion sending his cowboy hat tumbling over the back of the sofa onto the floor. "That's so dumb," he says, still giggling.

"No one claimed these guys are geniuses," Boots says with a shrug, but there's affection in her smile as she glances around the room. "And honestly, I kinda like it. So many people don't dare talk about being felisian, like it's a taboo or something. It's sorta nice these dorks just say it like it is."

"'Cause it is," says Specs, shrugging vaguely. "I'm black, Albo's ginger, and youse felisian. S'just how it is, it ain't a thing."

Davey chuckles. "I don't think ginger's a race."

"What? No, Race is Italian, Albo's ginger," Specs argues, brow furrowed.

Boots howls with laughter at his misunderstanding. Davey considers it for a second before deciding it's not worth it to try and explain. "Never mind," he murmurs and descends into his own fit of giggles. Specs glances between the two and then follows their example, even though he clearly has no idea why they're laughing in the first place.

A hand slides over his shoulder and Davey glances up to see Jack perching on the arm of the loveseat. His cheeks are flushed and even in the light, his ovoid pupils are slightly widened. When he meets Davey's gaze, his face splits in an eager grin. "Hey there, cowboy."

"Hey yourself," Davey responds, unconsciously echoing the smile.

"Youse pretty," Jack says apropos nothing, and he ducks in to claim Davey's mouth. Davey's free hand jumps up to tangle in the hair below Jack's ear and the felisian hums, the sound curling up into a low rumble at the end before they finally separate. Jack beams and bumps his nose against Davey's. "Wanna 'nother drink?" he asks, nodding toward the mostly empty cup in Davey's other hand.

He probably shouldn't. He's already going to be hating life tomorrow, and the pleasant tingling that started in his fingertips has begun to spread up his limbs, but- "Yeah, sure," he agrees.

"Ooh, me too!" Specs chimes in, holding his cup over his head eagerly. Jack scoffs but takes the cup from him, collects Davey's, and then heads for the kitchen. "S'nice to see him like that," Specs says thoughtfully.

"Like what?" Davey asks curiously.

"All-" Specs makes a weird hand gesture that explains nothing. "I dunno, not bein' closed up and _people-like_. Like he ain't shy 'bout it or somethin'." When he sees the look of confusion still on Davey's face, Specs glances imploringly to Boots. "Ya know what I mean, right? You 'splain it."

Boots nods, propped up on her elbows. "You know, Jack's always sorta got this thing like he tries not to be felisian around people or something," she says, tail lashing. "Or when it slips and he does, he makes jokes, you know? Like it's a silly inconvenience, or like it's something he gotta apologize for."

"He just purred," Specs interjects emphatically, tapping Davey's chest. "He don't do that around people, not even me. Like, _ever_." The dancer grins up at Davey. "Youse good for him. Like he ain't so shy no more."

Something warm is coiling in Davey's chest at the insinuation that he's helped Jack feel more comfortable with who he is, even in some small way, but the idea is too much for his brain to properly evaluate right now. He doesn't trust himself to process something so important with this much alcohol in his system, even if he wants to. So he licks his lips and grins. "Oh c'mon, you can't tell me Jack Kelly's _shy_."

Boots, thankfully, recognizes that he needs the out and plays along. "I know, right? Sounds like an oxymoron."

"Who's a moron?" asks Romeo, pausing in his way passed Boots with his brow furrowed.

"You are, diaper butt," Specs answers with a laugh.

Romeo, who is wearing only a white towel tied up around his hips like a diaper and a pair of paper wings duct-taped to his back, blows a loud raspberry at him. "I'm _cupid_ , stupid," he says, and then giggles. "Hey, that rhymed. Anyway, you're just jealous 'cause I won."

(In whole, Romeo's entire costume came up to a technical net-zero - the minimal cost of the paper and tape offset by the fact that he stole the towel from his roommate - which made him the official winner of their unofficial costume competition.)

"Don't change the fact youse in a diaper," says Specs, smirking.

"Be nice or I'mma poke ya with my love arrow," Romeo responds, and brandishes his 'arrow,' which is actually a stick with a construction paper heart stapled to the end. Specs yelps and recoils, squashing Davey in the process. Romeo jabs Specs in the stomach with the stick, grinning triumphantly. "Ha, now ya gotta love me!"

"I'll show ya love arrow!" Specs yells and hurls himself off the sofa in an uncoordinated jumble of limbs. Romeo squeaks and takes off running, the dancer on his heels as they plunge into the middle of a few guys' drinking game. Amid mingled complaints and laughter, Davey catches the sound of duct tape ripping off skin and a choked shout. "Ha, try an' fly away now, bitch!"

Jack snorts as he reappears behind Davey, clutching two cups. "I even wanna know?"

"Probably not," Boots and Davey say together.

Nodding, Jack glances down and beams. "Oh good, he's outta my spot," he says, and then vaults the back of the loveseat. He flops down into Davey's lap and then offers one cup toward him.

"Glad I can be everyone's pillow," Davey says dryly, accepting the drink.

"Not ev'ryone," Jack counters, grinning up at him. "Just me." And Davey can't even pretend to be annoyed by that when Jack nuzzles his cheek against Davey's arm in a warm, possessive gesture. It's another of those distinctly cat-like displays that Jack normally reserves for when they're alone, which brings Specs and Boots' earlier observation back to mind. Smiling, Davey cards his fingers through the soft curls on the back of Jack's head.

"Kinda surprised you drink," Boots admits, nodding to the cup in Davey's hand. "When Jack introduced you, we all kinda thought you were the Boy Scout type. Couldn't figure how a guy like that liked Jack of all people."

Davey laughs over the top of Jack's indignant objection. "I'm Jewish," Davey says, shrugging. "We use every occasion as an excuse to drink wine. And this is nothing compared to a couple of the parties I went to in high school."

Jack glances up at him, ears perked forward curiously, but the gesture makes the fabric of the hat bunch around his ears. The felisian huffs and tugs it off, tossing the hat on the floor dismissively and fluttering his ears to settle the fur. Genuinely surprised the cap lasted this long, Davey smiles and reaches up to comb down the tousled hair between his ears. Jack hums and presses up into the contact. "Mmm, that's betta," the felisian says with a languid smile.

Davey falls back into easy conversation with Boots, Jack chiming in now and again as downs the drink meant for Specs. Around them, the party is gradually starting to wind down, the energy of alcohol fading down in a groggy blur. Mush and Elmer come to join their little group at some point, the latter tucking himself into Boots' nest of pillows and blankets with her. The felisian pretends to grumble and complain, but they all know if she didn't want him there, he wouldn't be.

Davey doesn't notice that he's nodding off until Jack taps his cheek lightly, stirring him awake again. "Lay down, babe, youse gonna bust ya neck sleepin' like that," the felisian says, sitting up and sliding off his lap.

"M'awake," Davey mumbles blearily, shaking his head. He immediately regrets it when the motion makes the world spin dangerously around him. "Oh fuck, kill me now."

"Easy," Jack says, cupping Davey's jaw in one hand. "Ya gonna be sick?"

Davey squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath to steady his stomach, and then blinks them open again. It takes a second for him to focus on Jack's face, snagging random little details instead of the whole picture; the deep black of his eyes in the dim light, the flush of his cheek beneath the smudge of charcoal, the sprinkling of pale freckles on his nose. Davey blinks again, eyes finally focusing, and grins. "Hi."

Jack chuckles. "Hey," he replies, thumb brushing across Davey's cheek. "You good?"

"Dizzy," Davey admits, nose wrinkling. "What time's it?"

"Dunno," Jack says.

"S'three," Buttons supplies from the floor, where they've joined Boots and Elmer in the nest of pillows. "Well, a bit afta."

Davey groans and winces. "Ugh, I don't wanna move. We're stayin', right?"

Jack smiles and bumps his nose. "Yeah, we's crashin' here. C'mon, lay down, ya can go back ta' sleep."

"M'kay." Davey toes out of his shoes and then tugs at the bandana around his neck, frowning when he struggles with the knot that he can't see. After a minute of pulling vainly at it, he huffs and looks over at the felisian barely restraining a laugh. "M'stuck."

"Can see that," Jack says, grinning. "Ya want a hand?" Davey nods, and Jack slides him closer to pick apart the knot. When he drops the bandana on the floor, he leans in and nips lightly at the side of Davey's neck. "Youse so fuckin' cute, ya know that?"

"God, you two are so gross," Romeo moans from the nearby sofa, where he's curled up on one end while Specs is sprawled across the other half. "Like, cute but also _blugh_."

Jack scoffs and rolls his eyes, flipping Romeo off over his shoulder. "Youse just jealous, lover boy."

Romeo seems to consider this for a second and then shrugs. "Sure, I'd totally tap that."

Startled, Davey glances from Romeo to Jack. "Hands off," the felisian says to Romeo, then turns to Davey with a grin. "Don't worry 'bout him; he says that 'bout everyone after a drink."

Jack wraps an arm around Davey and drags him with as he lays back down, tugging Davey into his chest. They're both too tall for the loveseat so their legs end up bent and twined together in a knot. Davey tucks his head into Jack's chest and breathes out a contented noise when he feels Jack's tail rest on his hip.

"D'you have fun?" Jack murmurs into Davey's hair, and there's such an earnest hopefulness to his voice that Davey's heart almost melts from it. Mumbling an agreement, Davey nods. "Good," Jack says, hand smoothing over Davey's back. "And ya know, ya really do make a cute cowboy."

Davey laughs, tipping his head just far enough to shoot a skeptical look up at Jack's profile. "Think I'll leave cowboyin' to you. But I'm keepin' the shirt," he amends, burying his nose in the rumpled collar. "S'warm and smells nice."

Jack's chuckle is low and warm, and Davey can feel it vibrating where he's tucked against Jack's ribs. "M'okay with that."

"Wasn't givin' you a choice," Davey jokes, prompting another reverberating laugh from Jack. Davey fidgets with the buttons, loosening the top few so he's not so twisted up in fabric, and rubs his fingertips thoughtfully over the well-worn flannel. "Why'd they call you Cowboy?" he asks curiously.

For a minute, he thinks Jack isn't going to answer. Then the felisian hums and noses into Davey's hair. "Grew up on those old cowboy movies. Ya know, John Wayne and stuff? When I got inta' the system, always talked 'bout runnin' away. Was always tellin' folks I was gonna run far away and be a cowboy."

The story's relatively sweet, but there's also something about it that hurts, that makes a pain Davey can't begin to comprehend twist in his chest. It's another one of those things he'll have to think about more when he's sober. For now, Davey curls his fingers in the front of Jack's shirt, settling his forehead more comfortably over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "I'm glad you didn't," he whispers before he can think better of it.

Jack presses a kiss to his temple, the gesture almost heartbreakingly tender, before he settles his head beside Davey's. "Me too."


End file.
